


precipice

by thisissirius



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Death Acceptance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 03:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14946995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisissirius/pseuds/thisissirius
Summary: “Caleb,” Yasha says his name carefully. “Nott and Jester. They will want to say goodbye.”





	precipice

**Author's Note:**

> at it again with my love of caleb widogast. 
> 
> this time his friendship with yasha, which is important to me. 
> 
> i'm fine :))))

Caleb is no stranger to pain.

It’s inevitable as the resident squishy human (or so Jester is always keen to remind him) that he will end up getting injured. This doesn’t feel like that. This is so much worse. Just moving his limbs is exhausting, sending pain spiralling through his limbs.

“Caleb.”

Caleb attempts to open his eyes. It’s too much effort and he huffs out a groan. Even a twitch of his fingers is too painful.

“Look at me.”

The voice is both compassionate and commanding. There’s only one person Caleb knows who would try and order him back to consciousness.

“Yasha,” Caleb says or tries to say. He slurs, his tongue heavy in his mouth.

There’s a touch of a hand in his hair. Caleb doesn’t like people touching him as a general rule, but it’s soothing in comparison to the spasms of pain. With effort, Caleb opens his eyes. He squints in the bright light, there’s a blur of black and white above him, and then the hand in his hair shifts to shield his eyes.

Immobile has never been a position Caleb can handle when he’s conscious, but there’s nothing he can do. When he shifts on the ground, trying to move his aching limbs, the pain is intense, and he lets out a soft noise of pain. “What is-?”

Yasha looks down at him. There’s a cut above her eye and dirt smudged in her hair. “We were attacked. Separated from the others. Nott went to find Jester.”

Nott is okay then. Caleb is ashamed that it has taken this long to think of her. With Yasha settled on the dirt next to him, Caleb takes stock of his situation; most of the pain is centred at the base of his skull and his stomach. The rest is radiating out from various cuts and bruises, and magical aftershocks. Trying to shift his hand to touch his stomach wound is more effort than he can handle.

“Stop it,” Yasha says, her hands surprisingly gentle as she readjusts his arms. The position is more comfortable but Caleb grunts, fingers twitching.

“How bad?”

“Bad enough.” Yasha’s eyes are beautiful this close. Caleb blinks. Strange, the things you notice when you are trying to distract yourself. Yasha blinks but doesn’t say anything more. Though Caleb often longs for silence, it can be overwhelmingly loud inside of his head. For once, he thought, it’s quiet.

There are his friends to consider; Nott, who has been such a balm to his disaster of a life. Jester, who gives him such hope that Nott will be okay; her laughter and care, her need to help anyone however she can. Beau, who is as bad as he is at some things. Fjord, who makes Caleb feel, often, as if they are co-parenting children. He laughs, groaning as pain throbs in his stomach. Yasha mutters something Caleb can’t understand and there is pressure on his wound. Immediately Caleb feels sick, nausea rolling through his stomach. He lets out a sound that is more whimper than groan and bats weakly at Yasha’s hand.

“I’m sorry,” Yasha says, her deep voice sympathetic as she keeps applying pressure. “I do not want you bleeding out.”

Understanding what has to be done and having it done are two completely different things. Caleb’s fingers curl around Yasha’s wrist, his grip loose. There is a blackness creeping at the edges of his vision and he blinks a few times to focus on Yasha’s face. The longer she keeps her hands against his wound, the less he feels it.

“S’not hurting so much.” Caleb licks his lips. Yasha doesn’t look enthused by this news. In fact, her eyes flick up to the forest, looking for something. Caleb doesn’t know why; if his wound hurts less, they can follow Nott to the rest of their friends.

Caleb just needs to take a quick nap.

He is used to napping on the road; there’s usually someone snorting in his ear, a different cadence depending upon who was with him. The others would be scattered about the cart, their voices washing over Caleb’s tired body, Frumpkin either curled up against his neck, perched on Yasha’s shoulder, or Fjord’s head, heedless of Fjord’s sneezing. If Caleb concentrates hard enough, he can almost pretend that Beau is beside him, hand slung over his waist. Fjord is driving, Frumpkin meowing primly to whatever curse word Fjord is using. Nott and Jester’s laughter rings down the path, and Molly and Yasha’s quiet conversation is soothing enough to send him back to sleep.

There’s a sharp sting to his face and he jerks his head, pain exploding into his consciousness.

“Don’t sleep,” Yasha hisses.

Caleb blinks and looks around for the others but they’re nowhere to be seen. He’s still on the ground, a headache pounding at the base of his skull. When he looks down his body, there’s a red liquid that he knows too well bubbling up through Yasha’s fingers. “Oh.”

Yasha looks panicked. Caleb can’t remember ever seeing that expression on her face.

“You are scared.”

Yasha swallows, eyes narrowing. When she meets Cale’s eyes, the irritation gives way to disbelief. “You are dying.”

It’s as blunt as Yasha ever is.

“Probably,” Caleb says. There’s a lot of blood seeping out from under Yasha’s hands. Without Jester, there’s little that can be done. They’re fresh out of healing potions. “Least you won’t forget,” he pauses, gasping for a breath. His chest is tight, and it’s getting harder for him to get the breath he needs. “To get potions again.”

Yasha’s hands clench a little, causing a spasm of pain to cripple Caleb for a moment. “That’s not funny.”

“Wasn’t,” Caleb cuts off again. There’s an occasional painful wrench from his stomach wherever Yasha presses a little too hard, but otherwise, Caleb is comfortably numb. He has the feeling that if he says anything, Yasha will throw him over her shoulder, heedless of his injuries, all the way to Jester. He doesn’t think he could take that. “Meant to.”

“Tell me about Frumpkin,” Yasha says. 

Caleb’s eyes go unconfused and he smiles, thinking of Frumpkin. “You like him,  _ja_?”

Yasha nods. There is a faraway look to her eyes. “He reminds me of a time I thought I had forgotten.”

Caleb starts talking, explaining how he first summoned him, how long it’s been. He avoids certain lines of thinking that will lead down paths he doesn’t want to face. He does not want to think about the sadness and darkness in his life. “What do you like most about him?”

Yasha doesn’t often share, but as she stares down at her hands, still pressing against Caleb’s wound, attempting to keep his blood in his body, her lips twitch into a smile. “He is soft.” Giving Caleb an amused look, she adds, “he does not talk.”

The laugh this time is not terrible, though Yasha apologises softly anyway. 

They lapse into a silence, punctuated only by Caleb’s pained breathing, and Yasha’s muttered curses as she scans their surroundings.

Caleb’s always figured he would live a long life; penance for his crimes and things he can’t help but dwell on. If he is to die, he’s always assumed it would be in the pursuit of trying to save his parents. More recently, he’s been equally as content to die protecting his friends. Content is something he’s spent a long time thinking he would never be again. Friends are equally as surprising but no less welcome.

“Thank you,” Caleb says eventually.

“Why?” Yasha doesn’t look at him, her eyes on the treeline. Caleb doesn’t think she’s even heard him properly.

“You are a good,” he pauses, takes a breath, “friend.”

Yasha finally looks down at him, a shadow in her eyes. “What are you doing?”

Chest heaving, Caleb tightens his grip as much as his tired body will allow. “Please.”

“No.” Yasha adjusts her grip, gritting her teeth visibly as she peers at his wound. “I do not want to hear this. Until they get here.”

Caleb winces as his stomach pulls and his head pounds. It won’t be long. “Don’t think-“ He cuts off as Yasha presses a hand to his face. It’s wet and sticky, but Caleb meets her eyes slowly, blinking so that he can focus. As long as he doesn’t focus on why her hand is wet, he’ll be fine.

“Caleb,” Yasha says his name carefully. “Nott and Jester. They will want to say goodbye.”

It’s costing her a lot to say, Caleb knows. She doesn’t back down from a fight and this is not easy for her to admit. Caleb’s guilt is an almost constant companion, but it seems almost overwhelming in the moment. “Yasha, I cannot.”

“You will.” Again, it was more order than a suggestion. “I will not explain this to them.”

Caleb’s throat is tight, his head pounding painfully in his chest. He doesn’t want to do this. For the first time in so many years, he doesn’t want to give in and die, but he can’t hold on, so weak and tired. “I can’t.”

Yasha says nothing for a long time. She doesn’t let him go, leaning down until she can press her forehead to his. “You are a strong man, Caleb Widogast.”

Caleb’s laugh is watery and pained, but he manages to pat the side of Yasha’s head gently. “Not. But thanks.”

Yasha sighs, pulling back to look him in the eye. “Stubborn man.”

Caleb will give her that one. There are less painful ways to die, he supposes, but he is glad to be here with a friend. He wishes they were all here. 

“Protect Nott,” Caleb says, hand clenching into Yasha’s fur jacket.

Yasha’s face twists into distaste, reluctance. “Caleb-“

“Please,” Caleb says, drawing whatever energy he has left to talk to her. “Don’t let, mm, Fjord blame himself.”

Fjord is always the first to try and protect them, to make sure they are safe. If one of them dies while he is absent, he will still feel it as a failure. He can’t let this weigh on him.

“Molly and Jester. They are-“ Caleb pauses, closes his eyes as his body spasms with pain, “they made me laugh when,” another pause, another spasm, “I didn’t think I would again."

Yasha’s eyes look wet, her fingers tight around Caleb’s. Her other hand is still pressed to his wound, a futile attempt to protect him.

“Beau,” Caleb starts, thinking of his fellow human, the way her secrets seem as heavy as his at times. Though he hopes she will never hate herself as much as he does. “Take care of her.”

“I will.” Yasha’s voice wavers. “All of it.”

Caleb is so, so tired. “You were all good to me when you didn’t-“

It’s dark, Caleb thinks, just Yasha’s blue eyes bright against it. They swim above him, and Caleb welcomes the darkness like an old friend –

\- until frantic yells and a crashing sound burst through his calm and he blinks, jerking hard against Yasha’s hold.

“Easy,” Yasha commands, though Caleb doesn’t know whether she is taking to Caleb or whoever is crashing through the trees.

“Caleb!” Jester’s scream is echoed by Nott. “We are coming!”

There’s the sound of twigs snapping and a thud as someone falls to the floor beside him. A familiar blue face appears above him, her eyes wide and scared.

“Oh, Caleb,” Jester says, eyes drawn to the wound. So expressive, she looks horrified and scared. If Caleb had energy left, he’s sure it would panic him more. “So squishy.”

Caleb huffs a laugh, vision dark and so tired. Yasha is still holding him as Jester works, muttering under her breath. Nott’s fingers, so familiar, are in his hair.

“Hold on, Caleb.” She’s beautiful. When Caleb tells her so, her eyes widen. “Caleb-“

“I mean it,” Caleb says, feeling something along the skin of his stomach. “Don’t need to change.”

Nott closes her eyes, touching her face to his forehead. “I need you.”

“It’s alright,” Caleb says. A shadow falls over him, and when he can focus, Fjord is hovering above him, an unhappy tilt to his mouth. “Not your fault.”

Fjord says nothing, though there’s a careful look in his eyes. “Keep still. Jester will help.”

“I do not know,” Jester starts, sounding devastated.

The tingle is still there, so Caleb reaches out weakly, touching Fjord’s arm. “Fjord.”

“I hear ya, Caleb,” Fjord tells him.

Caleb believes him.

“Listen,” Caleb needs them all to know. “It’s okay.”

“Shut up, Caleb,” Beau snaps, though Caleb can’t see her. “Less talking if you wanna live.”

Cale opens his mouth.

“Even if you don’t,” came Molly’s response, just as adamant as Beau’s. “You’re not dying here.”

When Caleb meets Yasha’s eyes. She is actually smiling, though it’s tinged with sadness. “Did I not say?”

“Yasha, please move your hand.” Jester’s eyes are bright. Yasha looks reluctant and Caleb appreciates it, but Jester knows what she is doing. He pats her knee and slowly, Yasha draws her hands away from his stomach, though she rests them on his arm. Caleb may have a better relationship with bathing these days, but he’s certain his friends are going to end up dunking him in water if the state of him right now is anything to go by. Providing he makes it out of this.

“Thank you, Yasha,” Caleb says.

Yasha nods tightly, but her eyes are bright when she looks at him.

There’s a long drawn silence, broken only by Jester’s triumphant crow. “There! The Traveller has given me the energy, Caleb. It should hurt less soon.”

Caleb lets out a breath, feeling like he’s been holding it for an age. Exhaustion overwhelming him and he swallows. “Can I sleep?”

Jester nods, touching his face gently. “We will be here when you wake.”

For the first time in years, Caleb lets himself trust in someone else. His friends murmur assents, and he is safe; without hesitation, Caleb closes his eyes, content that he will mend – and wake up – still surrounded by his friends.

**Author's Note:**

> [catch me on tumblr!](http://widogastlie.tumblr.com)


End file.
